Games
by Catherine Medici
Summary: Red is a man of extremes. He knows this about himself. Lizzie is open and willingly offering him a veritable smorgasbord of delights. Will he know where to stop? (Warning for BDSM and D/s themes) Chapters 9 to 15 continued on AO3 due to Explicit rating.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you to almcvay1 and Filmsarefriends for beta'ing this fic. Both far better writers than I am. Check them out here and on Ao3

* * *

He sat comfortably, legs crossed, scotch in hand, in the armchair he had dragged across the room to the foot of the bed. It wasn't a particularly large room but the bed was soft and the company...

Well...

He listened as the sounds of Lizzie preparing for bed in the bathroom ceased. The door opened and she appeared in the doorway, a towel snugly wrapped around her body. Her hair was damp and combed back, her eyes lit upon him questioningly. She waited.

He hadn't meant to do it-to give into this weakness-but she had made it so incredibly hard to refuse. She'd been so sorry, hot tears falling onto her cheeks, she'd twined her arms about his neck and whispered brokenly into his ear. She'd ruined her own life and his, she'd said. She'd been so stubborn and willful, so sure she was right.

It hadn't helped that part of him agreed with her. Why, why did she do it? He could have worked with what he had when it was only the charges she was innocent of. But she had done what she wanted and he didn't think he could fix this, a murder she was guilty of. He could only get her out, continue to protect her and find a new life for her that would be some sort of solace for what she had thrown away.

She'd agreed with everything he'd said. Following along, subdued and quiet, she'd made no complaints when he stowed her in the most uncomfortable of safe houses, when he'd driven them day and night across state borders without rest. Every so often, she'd plead with him to forgive her. He'd sidestepped her attempts at making things right between them. Too angry, too disappointed. He'd become so used to the indignant, slightly sour Lizzie of the past two years, that he didn't know quite what to do with new facet of her personality.

He hadn't been sure of what to make of these strange twinges her new behaviour pulled from him either. His desire to control her had always been there. He had easily justified it before though. He just wanted her safe, protected, happy. All the things he did without her knowledge were for her benefit. Even so, he had been satisfied every time she pushed back, every time she raged at him for his interference. She had been a force to be reckoned with and it was a thrill to deal with her volatile energy.

But now, there was a different sort of thrill. He'd tried to resist it. Distancing himself from her, replying less and less to her pleas, not even bothering to sidestep anymore. But she'd become more dejected and unhappy.

He looked at her now, her body framed by the light in the bathroom as she stood quietly in the doorway, waiting for a signal.

"Take your towel off and kneel in the middle of the bed, palms facing outward on your knees," He instructed her in a steady, low voice.

She placed her towel tidily on the rack in the bathroom. She'd let it carelessly fall once before onto the floor, learning the hard way that he liked neatness, he wouldn't tolerate sloppiness. Her crimson bottom later that night had been a reminder she hadn't forgotten.

She moved to the bed, gracefully bending and shifting herself into the position he'd asked of her. Her skin glowed pale in the half light of the bedside lamp. She knelt quietly, patiently, her eyes fixed on his face, waiting for his next instruction.

He let her wait. Slowly he finished his scotch, maintaining eye contact with her. He shifted his hips, the heat of this silent exchange was becoming almost palpable. He felt desire surge in his belly, the familiar tinge of guilt along with it. She was so eager to please him, she practically vibrated with it.

He set his glass down, running his tongue along his lips, observing with satisfaction the way her body trembled with anticipation.

He hadn't fucked her. He'd punished her, toyed with her, but he hadn't put his mouth on her. Yet.

This slow, torturous dance wasn't over.

"I want you to spread your legs and touch yourself, Lizzie. When you feel that you're about to come, I want you to stop. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she breathed, tentatively reaching to stroke herself with her fingers. Such an incredibly intimate act to perform while gazing into his heavily lidded eyes. Her own eyes fluttered shut in response to the intensity of his stare.

"Look at me."

She popped her eyes open again, obeying him, a red stain flushing her cheeks. He felt a rush of exhilaration as he held her gaze.

His hand lazily wandered to his trousers. Without breaking eye contact, he unzipped himself and moved a hand across the hardness growing in his pants. Reaching under the waistband he freed himself from the confined space of his trousers, lightly stroking up and down his length, his shallow, fast breathing in concert with her own ragged breaths.

He raked his gaze from her luminous, wide blue eyes to her open thighs, avidly enjoying the sight of her hand massaging her clit in slow, languorous circles, her body making little shuddering movements as she pleasured herself.

His mind drifted to the first time he had played this little game with her. It had been a night just like this one in another hotel room. They'd silently readied themselves for bed, taking turns in the bathroom. She'd come into his room to sit beside him on his bed. He had tensed, preparing himself for more apologies, more declarations of regret. He'd been so frustrated. He'd told her what was done was done. Apologies weren't necessary. He didn't know what to do with this timorous, weeping girl. Why couldn't she push back at him? She was so much stronger than this and he was tired of keeping a check on himself for fear of hurting her.

"Lizzie, what do you want from me that would make you feel better? A spanking?" He'd asked her in annoyance.

She'd paused, a crackle of some indefinable energy had passed between them at his words. "If it would help, then yes, sure," she'd said carefully.

He was a cautious man, a thoughtful one. But he didn't think at all that time. That pause, and her response had electrified him. Desire lanced through him as he pulled her body over his lap. He shivered as he remembered now, how she'd given a small cry of surprise. But she hadn't resisted. He'd pulled her sleep shorts and panties down her legs, revealing her deliciously rounded bottom.

Experimentally, he'd bought his hand down on her creamy white ass cheek in a short, stinging, open palmed slap. She'd responded with a sharp intake of breath. He'd repeated it, harder and faster, his spanks punctuated with her gasps.

"Do you want this Lizzie?" He'd grated out as she wiggled in his lap.

"Yes...please...please," she'd begged.

"Tell me why? Why do you want this?" He had growled, raising his hand higher, spanking quivering flesh that was fast turning a rosy pink.

"I deserve it," she'd whimpered. "And R-Red… It feels so good!"

It had gone on for several minutes more, she had sobbed and twisted in his lap, she hadn't been able to keep still at all. He'd eventually hooked her flailing legs behind his right leg, putting an end to most of her squirming. She'd continued to beg wantonly, pleading for him to keep going and it was outrageous what her trembling cries were doing to him.

When he'd stopped, they were both shaking and panting. He'd smoothed his hands in circles along her reddened flesh. She'd been so hot. His palm had stung but he barely noticed, so consumed by the rush of arousal, by the sickening thrill of...control.

He wished many times since that night that she hadn't allowed it. He couldn't help himself. He had wanted her overwhelmingly since the day he saw her walk down those stairs towards him in the box.

And she was letting him. He knew it was dangerous, even unhealthy. He couldn't stop. She had opened herself to him, an invitation to take and he had taken, plundered.

He's asked her every night since: "Lizzie, do you want this? Do you like it when I do this?"

Each time she responds: "Yes, please Red," her mouth curving into a smile.

He wanted something to push against. He needed to know where her boundaries lay. But every time he gently probed, he fell into a well of no resistance. It gnawed at him. He knew how far he was capable of taking her. It frightened him.

So he was back to acting cautiously.

He watched her now, flushed and trembling, so close to the edge, dipping her fingers into her wet folds, swirling her slick index finger into herself, pressing her thumb lightly against her clit.

She gasped loudly, her hips jerking. Reluctantly, she drew her hand away from herself, lips parted, her blush spreading down her neck and to her collarbone. She looked at him imploringly.

He smiled. "Ready to come Lizzie?"

"Yes, please," she moaned desperately

"Not yet."

The corners of her mouth turned down slightly.

"Come here."

She came to him. Stood in front of him, trembling.

"Kneel."

She dropped to her knees, her trembling still evident. Was this a limit? He had to be sure. He cupped her face with one hand, the other still fisted around his cock. His thumb stroked her cheek.

"Lizzie?" he asked again, as with every night. "Do you want this?"

"Yes, please Red," she said, leaning into his caress.

Something in his belly tightened. He was disgusted with himself. But she was playing into every vice he owned. He hadn't acknowledged it to himself ever, even when she'd accused him of being obsessed with her. She'd been his blind spot. But he was beginning to see.

Just how far could he take this?

"I want you to take me into your mouth."

She glanced up at him, her lashes framing those blue eyes.

She leaned in and licked his cock from the base to the tip. His breath hitched. She took him into her mouth then, the wet heat of her swirling tongue drawing a groan from him. He let his fingers tangle themselves in her hair, cradling the back of her head, guiding her pace, thrusting a little with his hips.

His focus closed in on her. Silky hair, soft lips, the scent of her soap.

His nostrils flared, all his nerve endings were on fire. He wanted more of her. Wanted to do depraved things to her. She would let him. She had let him. He tightened his grip in her hair involuntarily, as he felt a sweet ache swell in his balls. He thrust into her mouth harder and faster as she gagged on his cock.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear: "Swallow, Lizzie, then you can come."


	2. Chapter 2

**Note to the reader: You should always agree to a safe word well before any humiliation play such as being told what to wear or forced public nudity/partial nudity. Red should know better. But this is fantasy.**

 **Remember** **,** **if it ain't fun, you're doing it wrong.**

* * *

"The clothing I've chosen for you tonight is laid out on the bed," he mentioned casually as they stepped into the already occupied elevator.

She said nothing, her cheeks growing warm with embarrassment and a tiny thread of arousal fluttered through her.

So strange, the pleasure she felt in his company now. For so long she'd clawed at this feeling in her chest, this desire to submit to his guidance. She'd hated herself, mistrusted him and his intentions. Fearful of how vulnerable these feelings made her, she'd used every ounce of her natural independence and wariness to keep him at bay.

She used to wake up with tension in her belly, shadowy dreams of betrayal dogging her footsteps. Now she woke up with a different sort of tension. She couldn't place the feeling. She thought about it quite a lot. Her profiler's mind assessing herself, her motivations, the things that drove her.

She didn't understand herself at all these days.

Oh, she understood _what_ she wanted, just not why.

She wanted Red, wanted him to want her as badly as she did him, wanted to please him, make him look at her the way he had the first day she'd laid eyes on him. The closest she'd felt to this before was her senior year of college. She'd fallen hard for one of her professors. He'd been difficult to impress but she'd been his best student. She'd been smitten. He was so warm, engaging and charismatic but he still had held her at arm's length. She recalled her humiliation when he'd rebuffed her advances.

It had taken her a while to put that experience behind her.

And now...Red. Her feelings about their relationship made her previously vivid memory of her twisted crush on the professor seem pale and faded.

She had been terrified that she'd broken whatever they had built over the past two years. Broken it just as she'd come to realize how sure she was about what she felt for him.

She hadn't known what she was asking really, with that first spanking. She'd thought it would be cathartic. Instead she'd been rocked by the eroticism of it, of Red wanting her. It was incredible. She'd felt him against her, lying across his lap like that, how could she not?

She was lovesick. A thought she buried quickly. Being in love with the Concierge of Crime was a terrifying thought.

She shivered with pleasure as he snaked a possessive arm firmly around her waist, guiding her out of the elevator to their suite.

* * *

He had allowed her the privacy of the bedroom in order to get ready for dinner. He was looking forward to her reaction when she discovered what she was wearing that night.

He didn't have to wait long.

She came barrelling out of the bedroom at full speed, holding a piece of gauzy black cloth in her arms.

"Red, its _sheer_. Is there a slip to wear underneath?"

He pursed his lips slightly, hiding a smile. "No, that's what you're wearing tonight. Is there a problem?"

She looked crestfallen. "I'll be arrested."

He laughed delightedly. "Lizzie, you're allowed underwear. That's been laid out for you as well. Really it's no less than what you wore to the beach the other day."

She looked doubtfully at the flimsy dress she held. "But, you said it was a Michelin star restaurant. I could be refused service," she argued hopefully.

He regarded her, his head cocked to the side, a knowing look on his face. "Not with me, you won't be."

"Alright," she murmured, turning back into the bedroom.

He grimaced, watching her leave. He'd hoped for some fun, some enjoyable theatrics to heat things up. Now all he was left with was a shamefully perverse desire to make her dine naked.

What was wrong with him? He had what he had long desired. Was he about to spoil it for himself?

He'd played with domination and submission in the bedroom before, he'd never been one to allow something like that to go unexplored. But this. This driving need to possess her, to bend her to his will - it wasn't just fun. It was a compulsion.

He felt sick.

* * *

Piano music tinkled in the background, setting an inviting atmosphere for the diners there that night.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her breathing was shallow, eyes dilated wide and that charming blush colored her cheeks. He loved to make her blush. It excited him, this visible evidence of her discomfort.

Coolly unconcerned by the stares her outfit was garnering, he checked his coat and guided her to their table.

Their waiter approached and politely asked for their drinks order, studiously avoiding looking at Lizzie. He ordered wine for both of them, not wanting scotch or a cocktail. He didn't want alcohol to interfere with his plans for them later that night.

"Lizzie," he began after he'd ordered for them both. "We need to talk about a safe word for you. We really should have discussed this a few days ago now. You'll...need one to continue what we're doing. It's important."

"To continue what we're doing..." she echoed, a questioning look on her face, "...what exactly are we doing?"

He paused before answering. "Exploring domination and submission, in admittedly...very odd circumstances. Is it what you want Lizzie?"

She smiled. "You know it is."

He leaned back to look at her, absurdly pleased with her answer.

"So a safe word, huh? I don't know, I hadn't thought about it. I suppose we could do traffic lights? Green, yellow, red?"

He smirked, reaching across the table to stroke her scar. The expression on her face as he took this liberty was...well it was delicious. Her eyes widened as though he were stroking a far more intimate part of her body.

"Sweetheart, I intend to make you scream my name. It won't be much fun if every time you do, I think you want to stop, will it?"

She smiled sheepishly "You have a point. Just let me think a minute." She tapped her lips with a finger, scanning the room, suddenly realizing that she was receiving a lot of furtive, scandalized looks from other diners. She hurriedly returned her focus to Red, a mortified expression on her face. "Everyone is looking at me," she hissed.

"Well yes, of course they are. They see a beautiful woman in a...dazzling dress. Half the men in this room are thinking of what it would be like to have you for dessert, Lizzie." He leaned forward as though to impart a secret. "There's a man to the right of you, no don't look. He's thinking about licking whipped cream from your nipples."

"Is that in the cards tonight?" she asked huskily.

He raised an eyebrow. "Well I don't normally share but I could go and ask him, if it's something you really wanted." He made a movement as though to stand up.

"What? No!" She squeaked, grabbing his arm, laughing at him as he settled back into his chair. "You love to tease, don't you?"

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression soft. "How does it make you feel...when I ask you to wear something like that for me?"

She gave him a considering look. "When I'm dressing or now?"

"Tell me everything."

"Well," she glanced at her lap.

"No, look at me."

Looking up again, she picked up her wineglass and took a sip, gripping it by the stem nervously. "It was exciting..." she murmured "...knowing you wanted to see me in this dress. Pulling it over my head and seeing what it looked like in the mirror was...yeah, very exciting."

"And now?"

"Now? I don't know." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "It's humiliating."

"Is that exciting too?"

"What?" She looked shocked.

He changed direction. "Tell me how you feel when I spank you."

Her expression cleared. "I feel safe and desired. And it's also...it's...cleansing? I don't know how to describe it."

Their attention was momentarily distracted by the arrival of the first course. Once again, the waiter looked anywhere but at Lizzie.

Red's tongue darted across his lips. Oh, he was enjoying this.

"When you finish the meal Lizzie, I want you to go to the ladies room and take your panties off. Come back here and give them to me."

She dropped her fork on the table with a clatter. "No...Red, you're teasing me."

He smiled. "Yes, but you'll do it, won't you?"

She eyed him, uncertain of how serious he was. Taking up her fork again, she took a bite of her meal to give herself time to breathe a little.

"So have you got any plans for our next move? I do like it here," she ventured.

"I'm surprised. This town is run by the local mafia. Didn't think it would be your scene. But perhaps I should have anticipated it?"

She rolled her eyes, spearing a sesame seed encrusted piece of tuna and popping it into her mouth. "I've _never_ been caught."

"You'll fit right in here then." There was silence for a beat, then,"you're awfully close to finished Lizzie. Did you like the sashimi?"

She swallowed, ignoring his gentle dig. "Omaha."

"What about it?"

"That's my safe word."

He laughed, a deep, genuine belly laugh. "Minx," he accused fondly.

Her lips quirked briefly into a smile. She popped the last piece of tuna into her mouth and looked at her plate, then back at him. He waited, not saying a word, an expectant and half amused expression on his face.

Slowly, she stood, pushing her chair out. "I'll be right back."

He watched her go, appreciating the sway of her hips and the view of her smooth legs under the gauze of her dress.

Startled looks followed her back to the table despite her best attempts to be unobtrusive. She'd stayed in the ladies room longer than she'd needed to, with her panties bunched in her fist, trying to work up the courage to walk out there and back to their table.

She dropped them into his lap, slashing a challenging look at him. She did sit down in an unseemly rush though. He picked them from his lap and examined them. The crotch was slick with her wetness. He smiled.

"Very good, Lizzie," he teased. "By the look of these, you've been enjoying showing yourself off for me tonight."

There. That telltale blush again. He felt a jolt in his groin as she looked down at her lap once more, her hair curtaining her face in silky waves. He couldn't wait to get her home.

* * *

Getting back to their suite was a trying experience for Lizzie. She silently thanked the powers that be for the cover of darkness, until of course they entered the foyer of their splendidly lit hotel. She was getting used to burning hot cheeks these days it seemed.

He walked her through to the elevator, his hand lightly at the small of her back. He silently chuckled as he found he needed to increase his pace to keep up with her as she practically marched through the lobby.

She was so grateful that they were the only ones to step into the elevator, that she found herself sagging against a wall with relief.

His soft growl was her only warning as he grabbed her by her middle, pushing her further up against the wall. He pressed his body into hers, his face so close, she could feel every breath against her cheek. He shoved his hand between her legs, stroking her through the fabric of her barely there dress. Her body responded, jerking to meet him, nipples tight and aching to be caressed, her skin becoming more sensitive as his hands roamed her flesh.

She wanted him so badly. To feel his lips on hers. He hadn't kissed her yet. He'd had her on her knees the previous night but he hadn't yet touched her with his mouth. She wanted.

"Red, I want-"

She bent her head toward him to catch his mouth but he jerked his chin playfully away. He was toying with her.

"Shhh, not yet," he whispered in response to her whimpers.

She narrowed her eyes as the elevator doors opened. He had to half support her weight to their suite. Her legs were like jelly.

He deposited her on a chair, allowing her to steady herself as he peeled off his jacket and loosened his tie. He would need the tie later, in the bedroom.

"Red," she said, coming up behind him and pressing herself against him. "You want me right? Don't you want..." She trailed off, her body language suggesting what she was failing to say.

He glanced at her, his expression giving away nothing. Quick as lightning, he grasped her chin with one hand, his strong fingers squeezing her jaw firmly. "When I'm ready, Lizzie," he said silkily, his voice low and dangerous, sending pleasant tendrils of arousal coiling through her. "Not on your terms, but on mine, yes?"

She nodded, wide eyed, panting with a heady mix of shock and desire. His fingers were digging into her cheek so hard it was hurting her. He drew her face toward him, still gripping her jaw and took her mouth, painfully soft, his lips only brushing hers, the tenderness of the kiss belying the strength of his hand at her throat.

She exhaled slowly. He had kissed her. She felt dizzy, her extremities tingled. She'd waited so long for this, and it hadn't been anything like what she'd expected. It was so much better.

"Lizzie, do you trust me?"

"Uhuh..." she moved in dreamily for another kiss.

He shook his head impatiently, tapping her cheek. "No darling, I need your attention. Do you trust me?"

Her eyes cleared. She furrowed her brow. Didn't he know?

"I trust you, Red. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

He nodded, satisfied, pulling her against him. "You need to give me your safe word if you ever want to stop, you understand me?"

His lips were against her ear now, his voice vibrating through her, sending shivers down her spine.

"He pinched her upper arm gently. "Do you understand? I need to hear you say it."

"Yes, I'll give you my safe word if I want to stop. You know I will."

"Good. Now strip and go into the bedroom and kneel on the bed. I'll be there in a minute."

Shivering with anticipation, she scrambled to comply. It was a cool night but her skin was so warm. She ran her hands over her own body, her muscles quivering tightly. Something was different tonight. What was it? He had asked her if she was excited by her humiliation from being practically nude. Had she been? She wasn't sure of much, only that the feelings produced tonight had been intense, coming from a place she hadn't even been aware of before.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Red leaning in the doorway, his arms folded, gazing at her with obvious pleasure. He held his tie and a silk scarf in his hands. Moving forward into the room like a hunter stalking his prey, he approached the bed and stood over her.

"I'm going to blindfold you and bind your hands behind your back now."

She shivered and nodded, her teeth chattering despite the warm glow she felt. Nerves.

"Are you cold, Lizzie?"

"No."

"Alright then". He moved to caress her cheek. "Hold still."

Looping his maroon patterned tie around her head, he gently pulled it across her eyes. "How's that? Tell me if you can see," he commanded.

"I can't see anything, Red," she said throatily.

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Perfect."

She gave a tiny gasp as he moved onto the bed.

"What?"

"Nothing, sorry. I just...I just feel like every sound, every movement you make is amplified by a thousand."

She felt a brush of his lips on her ear, his breath against her neck. "Good. That's very good, Lizzie."

Her heart was pounding, _God_ this was amazing. She was so tense and she knew how aware he was of it. He was playing her like a violin. He was behind her on the bed now. She could feel his shirt brush against her back as he took both of her arms and drew them around towards him. She felt his strong hands circling her wrists, knotting them together with the silk scarf.

He pulled her flush against him and reached around to cup her breast, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned, arching her back, turning her head towards him, searching for his mouth in the darkness behind her blindfold.

"Face forward, Lizzie," he growled.

She heard him behind her, his movements on the bed unsteadying her. And then, a whoosh of air close by her ear. He had tapped her lightly across her mid back with something. What was it? It was soft and tasseled. He gently dragged it across her skin.

She breathed out, "Oh." Her soft exhalation eliciting a chuckle from behind her.

"How does that feel?"

"It feels-"

Another gentle thud against her back. She shuddered.

"Soft, it feels soft."

Again. It came again and again, a steady beat of a drum in her ears as he rained down light taps of the flogger. Her nerve endings were singing. She felt more alive than she ever had. Her hearing was sharp as a knife, every one of her senses heightened almost unbearably. She could hear the susurration of the flogger each time he swung. She could smell him, the achingly familiar, warm scent of Red in the cool night air. The evening breeze was against her skin, tinged with sea salt wafting in from the open window.

Her skin was heating up now. The thud as the falls of the flogger swished across her back and the sting like an aftertaste was growing in intensity, her mind struggling to keep up with the sensory input.

Another movement. Her ears picked up a soft rustling as he changed direction. Then, a caress of the flogger across her breasts. And another, harder this time, the sting on her nipples an exquisite sensation, not yet painful, but bringing her to the edge as he peppered her skin with bursts of electric heat.

She heard her breathing and his, so loud in the stillness of the bedroom. Heavy, panting, shivering breath. She trembled with the strain of remaining balanced on the bed, feeling beads of sweat rolling down her body.

She wasn't sure how she knew, because he moved soundlessly this time but she felt him bend over her, expecting and welcoming his mouth before he was even on her.

And then his tongue was licking a trail down her stomach. It was too much, she felt herself lose balance and topple backwards.

He caught her. His arms around her.

"Please, Red, please, please," she begged.

"Lizzie," he groaned, pulling her close, desire and adrenaline in his blood like a drug. He reached around to release her bound hands and gently laid her on the bed, his tie still over her eyes. He looked at her for a moment, kneeling over her body. He ran a hand over the reddened marks on her chest, heard her breath catch and suddenly he couldn't wait.

Clothes. Why did he still have his shirt and pants on? He stripped himself down, returning to her body eagerly, desperately, exploring her with his tongue, with his mouth and hands.

She was whimpering now, pleading with him, her arms reaching for him as he settled himself over her.

Just the sight of her wriggling on the bed, searching blindly for him, his body, his lips, was enough to...

He pushed into her roughly, his teeth at her throat, his hands gripping her hair. She arched into him, her pleading becoming inarticulate, choked cries of pleasure. He'd meant to play with her for longer than this but he wanted her now. He wanted to own her, to possess her mouth, her hair, her whole body.

And she wanted it too. She clutched at his shoulders, wrapping her legs around him, grinding her hips to meet his, taking as much as she needs, like he was doing with her. It was an unspoken agreement. He uses his body to force her down further into the bed just as he feels her go still and she's quivering, pulsing around his cock, keening into his ear, her cries pulling a visceral response from him, urging him further.

He's groaning, taking her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip. And in the back of his mind he's worried he's hurt her. Has he bitten too hard? He's pulled her hair, grabbed, wrenched at her. She didn't seem to mind though. Her cries are never of protest, she seeks him out still, her arms around him as he climaxes into her with a guttural moan.

He lies over her, holding her to his chest. They're both panting, slick with sweat. He rolls off her onto his back, his face turned towards her.

She sits up and smiles, still sightless under her blindfold. And he feels an unsettling blend of horror and desire as he sees the bite marks he's left on her neck, her face, her breast. She's still slightly welted by the deerskin flogger he used on her. He can't help himself. He reaches to stroke her marked body. His. He feels as though he could mark her every night, that he'd keep his ownership visible on her skin forever if she'd let him. He clenches his teeth at the thought, both arousing and sickening.

" _That_ ,"' she said, "was the wildest and best sex I've ever had."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to FilmsareFriends for being so patient with my punctuation and grammar. I'm getting better! I promise! She's an awesome beta, author and friend. Can't get luckier, can I?**

* * *

"I didn't know you could paint."

"I can do a lot of things, not least among them, spanking your ass if you don't get up. We're going to sit by the sea and I'm going to paint you."

She dimpled with pleasure, rising up from the white linen sheets like Aphrodite from the sea. The sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting her pale skin, making her hair shine. The welts on her breast appeared shockingly pink in the light of day. He swallowed. He could look at her forever, he thought. If he could snatch her up and bottle her like a genie, he would.

She rustled around in the wardrobe, looking for her swimsuit. Well, he'd let her wear it for the time being.

She disappeared around the corner into the bathroom. He sat on the bed, tapping his foot restlessly. He'd had what he thought was a fantastic idea and he was impatient to put it into place.

She poked her head back around the corner. "Are we going to eat breakfast before we go?"

"I _should_ say no, you've slept the morning through," he said with a quirk of his lips, showing that he wasn't serious. "But, we'll take a picnic brunch with us. See? I've thought of everything. Now let's go, shall we?"

* * *

It wasn't a long way, but Red had chosen a rocky, overgrown path to a deserted part of the beach. It was so difficult to get to that it wasn't often a populated area. And that suited his plans just fine.

"Where's your canvas?" she inquired curiously, taking the hand proffered to her as she clambered down a large rock onto the sand.

He smiled. "You're my canvas."

The look she gave him was delicious. Uncertainty and eagerness with glinting good humor shining from her eyes. His chest filled with a pleasant ache. She was a dream, his dream. Did she have any idea how mesmerizing she could be?

They meandered along the beach, searching for a spot to settle themselves in. Red chose a sandy dune that was well protected from the wind by small, scrubby bushes. He pulled out a picnic rug from the basket he'd been carrying. He'd had his own discreet staff take care of everything they needed that morning and he was very well pleased with the contents of the basket. He handed her a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a whole host of fruits; bright purple grapes, luscious strawberries and three different melons. A loaf of bread at the bottom of the basket was still vaguely warm, ready to be slathered with pats of creamy butter.

He beckoned her to him. "Sit."

She sat close to him, cross legged, her zebra striped swimsuit juxtaposed oddly against the tartan of the picnic rug.

He idly ran his hand through her hair. She winced, her scalp sore from the events of the evening before. Smirking, he briefly gripped her hair a little harder. He loved pulling these reactions from her. She was so responsive, it was like playing an instrument.

The pop of the champagne cork, the waves crashing on the beach, the sound of the seagulls overhead, it was seeping into him, relaxing and soothing. The predator ravaging inside him slept, allowing him to appreciate the natural wonder about him. And the beautiful woman reclining at his side.

He fed her bites of buttered bread, a grape here and there, a strawberry, slices of melon. The feel of her mouth closing over his fingertips was exquisite. She deliberately sucked grape juice from his fingers, her tongue running along the underside of his forefinger, teasing him, stirring him in ways that she could only guess at.

"Lizzie," he growled. "If you keep doing that with your tongue, I'm going to make a mess of you and I need to keep you clean for the art."

She laughed. "What did you mean before? About me being your canvas?"

He leaned over, drawing paints, paint brushes, various sponges and a polaroid camera out of the basket. "Just what I said. I want to paint you. Stand up and take your swimsuit off."

She quirked an eyebrow but happily obliged. She removed her swimsuit and reached her arms high above her head, standing on her tip toes, arching her back into a full body stretch.

His eyes glazed. She was showing herself off now. He suspected she knew exactly what this was doing to him, the little tease.

Well then.

He busied himself setting up to have his fun.

She looked on curiously. He was wetting a sponge with silver paint. What was he going to do? Face painting?

He looked up, with a jerk of his chin he called her to come closer.

"Lizzie, stand here with your legs apart, arms up. That's it, like a snow angel."

He circled her slowly, placing a hand around her waist, dragging his fingers lightly across her stomach. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying his touch on her sun-warmed body.

"What are you going to do?" She was a little breathless just from his caress.

"This."

She felt a wet sponge on her breast. Her eyes fluttered open. What was that? He'd swiped her breast with a coating of silver body paint. His hands were now drifting everywhere, smearing her skin with silver.

"What? Why?"

"I told you. I'm going to paint you." He touched her face with the sponge, smearing her lips, her cheek and brow. "Close your eyes." He lightly dabbed at her closed lids, tickling behind her ears. She giggled.

"I had thought of painting my name all over your body. But then I saw you in bed this morning and I couldn't help thinking of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty...and pleasure." He traced the sponge along the underside of her breast. She shuddered, leaning into him. He held her at arm's length, examining the paint. "And I think I'm going to play with that theme. Won't that be fun?"

* * *

Hours later, her arms were sore, her legs restless and tired but she was still standing, limbs splayed as he knelt in front of her, his hands, shirt, even his elbows, messy with silver as he worked across her body with a fine tipped paint brush. He had coated her from top to tail with body paint, teasing her with his feathery touch, exciting her with casual swipes of the sponge at the juncture of her legs, punishing her, he'd said, grinning lasciviously.

She'd been taken aback at that. Punishing her for what? She hadn't expected his shrug of amusement. "Do I have to have a reason Lizzie? Maybe I just like to see you squirm?"

And she had. Squirming, wriggling, stretching her legs and arms like a ballerina. He was so meticulous, painting delicate whorls and curlicues onto her skin, using a white paint that shone and glittered against the silver. Occasionally, he'd bring out a pot of green or a deep pink or carmine, intent on an exquisite recreation of cherry blossoms across her stomach, twining it's way over her breasts and nestling at her throat. He'd told her that he'd painted a flock of doves across her left shoulder.

"This is amazing Red. When did you discover you could paint? There's nothing about it in your FBI files," she said, toeing patterns into the sand.

He huffed irritably. "A watercolor tattooist in Brazil. I was researching tattoos at the time for my own reasons and stayed for a few months. Victor is quite possibly the best in the world, both as a tattooist and an artist. And if you don't stop moving Lizzie, I'm going to start counting each time I have to redo something and your ass will pay for it later," he said, his eyebrows raised.

She gave him a sunny smile in return. He snorted, continuing on with his work. She didn't move again until she noticed he'd signed his name with a flourish at her hip bone. She laughed then.

"Okay," he stood and moved away to survey his completed work. His chin rose in approval. He always took his fun where he could. It was part of the life that he lived. It had been a long time since he'd had such a...bundle of fun right at his fingertips.

He fell back onto the picnic rug, exhausted. Reaching for the camera, he reclined, half sitting, half lying across the rug. He wanted pictures of this. Beauty was such a transient thing. He wouldn't try and keep her like this for long. Pristine, lovely in her silver, ethereal nakedness. But he would have pictures.

He smiled, gesturing a circle with his finger. "Pirouette for me Lizzie."


	4. Chapter 4

**Special thanks again to the brave FilmsareFriends for being my tireless beta.**

 **Also oh my gosh! I don't own anything! Oops.**

* * *

Flying away in the jet had been strangely unsettling for them both but it had hit Lizzie particularly hard. She wanted to hold onto the feelings and memories they'd had in Mexico. She could still feel the sand sticking to her feet, her skin stiff with salt water, the warm sun giving her a healthy glow that she hadn't had before in D.C.

And she was concerned that Red had changed. Was he regretting what was between them now? He was introspective, busy and almost curt with her. The transformation of their relationship had been so sudden and intense, she hadn't been prepared. Perhaps he hadn't either?

They'd left far too urgently for her to feel at ease. He'd come back to the suite after a meeting with an associate one afternoon and told her to pack a bag, they were leaving. Now. She hadn't even asked why the rush until they were in the sky. He'd been airy and vague, dodging her question easily.

In the old days that would have caused an argument. She would have ambushed him with harsh words, hating herself for the pained, stoic look that would crawl across his face when she treated him that way.

She ground her teeth now, treading the boards of their deck. She felt as though she'd been imprisoned in silk and lace ribbons. They were in Cambodia, on a private atoll in the middle of the South China Sea. She couldn't get away unless it was on the speedboat that took Red to the mainland most mornings and bought him back, tired and tense in the late afternoon.

She didn't want to leave exactly. She just wanted to know she could. She wanted to be involved in what was happening. It was an uncomfortable feeling creeping up on her, this trapped restlessness. She was a pet, leashed and shut up, pampered and spoilt but mostly ignored.

She folded her arms. Things had to change. Starting as soon as he got back.

* * *

The only person she knew who was more single minded than herself was Red. Which is why she shouldn't have been so surprised at her position only an hour later.

She was spread naked upon the bed, her hands and legs cuffed to each bedpost.

She'd been so focused, sure of herself, practising what she wanted to say to him.

He couldn't read minds could he? It was uncanny. He'd leapt up from the boat onto the small dock as he did every day, looked at her and stilled, his body language changing from tired and businesslike to sleek and predatory in a second.

She'd been taken aback. Those weren't the signals she was sending off with _her_ own body language _at all._

"We need to talk."

He'd sailed past her, clearly confident that she'd scramble to follow him.

"Red! Are you listening?"

He spun around on her so fast, she collided against him. He took hold of her, pressing her tight against him. His long fingers were gently around her neck and his face was buried in her hair. The work of a moment and she'd forgotten half of what she'd planned to say.

"Not really, sweetheart," his voice was a soft rumble through the tangle of her hair. "I haven't been at my best today. I've wanted to scratch...an itch... all day. And you weren't there to scratch it for me." He walked her backwards into a wall. "Oh look," he said mildly. "Here you are now."

"Red", she warned breathlessly.

"Shhh, come with me."

"I want to talk about why we left Mexico. Has something happened? You've been ignoring me, don't try and say you haven't." She'd followed him into the bedroom, hands on her hips, a dark, worried look on her face.

He _was_ ignoring her. Proving it even as the words spilled over her lips. His back to her, he was bent over a briefcase at the end of the bed. He drew soft leather cuffs from the briefcase and a loop of shiny, silken rope.

"I don't think so,"' she began firmly but she never finished what she was going to say. He turned to her, circling her waist with his arm. It seemed as though he was closing in for a hug and she gratefully reached for him but he pushed her down onto the bed instead. She hadn't expected it and so she overbalanced easily, tipping forward into the soft mattress.

Annoyed now, she turned over only to find him on top of her, his hand at her breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers through her shirt. She melted.

Damn.

She'd tried to bargain. "Okay, we can play now," she'd gasped between his throat swabbing kisses. "But you'll talk to me later, yeah?"

It didn't seem like he heard her at all. He'd peeled her shirt and pants off before she'd had a chance to clear her head. He'd shifted her to the middle of the bed and she'd eagerly spread herself for him, expecting the heat of his body and his hardness inside her but he'd cuffed her deftly to the bed leaving her panting and ready for him.

He'd poured all the shocking things he wanted to do to her into her ear, thrilling and disgusting her. She hadn't heard his darker desires yet. She was horrified at herself as she felt her own responses to the pictures he was drawing for her imagination.

And then the urgency in his voice died down and he just looked at her, examining her like she was a new hat he intended to purchase.

He hummed with pleasure, eying his prize, tied down on the bed for his delectation.

"What hits your hot buttons then, Lizzie? Tell me the most erotic dream or fantasy you've had."

She paled.

"Oh! It's going to be a good one isn't it?"

He pounced on her, playing with her wrist above her head, hooking a leg around hers, gently brushing his mouth along her jaw. "Tell me, Lizzie…" he growled against her lips.

She shook her head mutely. Her chest was heaving. Was she ashamed? Her eyes were darting around the room, avoiding his gaze as though she knew it would be all over if he could catch a glance from her.

He smiled privately to himself. What secret desire was she hiding?

"You know," he purred, deliberately keeping his voice roughened. "I've always been a breaker of rules." He nibbled at her neck, his hands above her head, playing with her scar. He knew by now she hated that. The loss of control that went with it. He enjoyed bothering her with the amount of control he retained over her reactions. Touch her here and she'd gasp just this way, touch her there and her hips would jerk towards him, pulled on an invisible string. She was an open book and her discomfort with that was adorable.

He ground his hips into hers, a crackle of heat shooting between them. "Nothing you tell me could shock, sweetheart." He licked a bead of sweat at the hollow of her throat, tracing kisses further down her body. She moaned, almost protesting. "What was that? You wanted to share something?"

"I have...I used to have, one fantasy," she winced, "it freaked Nick out, he was pretty offended. Thought I wanted to be unfaithful to him."

"Tell me."

She looked at him now, her eyes heavily lidded. "You're a possessive man, Raymond, are you sure you want to hear?"

He bit her breast hard, eliciting a stifled cry of pain and a heated look from her.

"I said...tell me."

Squirming uncomfortably, her eyes slid away again. She huffed, annoyed.

"Okay, Nick had this friend, he was cute and funny. He'd flirt with me, nothing inappropriate, just good natured teasing...and I used to imagine inviting him over for dinner and I'd be lying on the dining table and...well..." She trailed off, her cheeks suffused with heat.

"And he had you for dinner, didn't he?" Red prompted slyly.

She dimpled cheekily. "Well, the both of them did."

"Hmmmm, that's interesting." He took a nipple into his mouth, gently laving her with his tongue, blowing on and biting her nipple by turns. "So you were stretched out, yes? On the table. Spread eagle?"

"Mmmhmm."

He let her wrist go, drifting his hand over her cheek, caressing her silky skin. His hands made gentle love to her and his mouth bit at her flesh, hungry and demanding. She gasped and sighed from one moment to another. She found it hard to keep up when he did this. Soft and light, and ferocious all at the same time. It was overwhelming, like drowning, she thought.

What was he doing to her?

He was moving down her body now. His chin resting on her hip, looking right at her still. She caught his eyes, and a thrill of fear rolled through her. His gaze was so all encompassing, his lidded stare seemed to say aloud: _**I own you. You are mine and I will do with you as I wish.**_ It was frightening.

He burrowed his face into her and...sniffed deeply, obnoxiously.

"Red!"

"What? You smell glorious. The musky scent...of my sweet... " he dipped his tongue into her folds, opening and exploring her and coming up again for air as she cried out. "Lizzie," he finished, licking his lips provocatively.

She strained at her bonds as he swept her up in his kiss, the pressure building at her core. The caress of his tongue was maddening. He knew just how far to take her before backing off, gently pressing kisses along her inner thigh as the crest of her desire subsided each time.

He was being far too gentle and doing it deliberately, damn him. Playing with her, teasing her, using her own need against her.

"Please..." she choked out.

He ignored her, tonguing her clit solicitously as though he could never want to do anything else in the world.

And he had stamina. Hours worth of it.

"Red!" She was almost weeping now. She lifted her hips toward him, begging, offering anything, just please let her come. Drenched with sweat, her body twitched involuntarily under his ministrations, all pride forgotten. "Please, please, Red," she panted. "I'll do anything, please stop, please, please stop."

His head jerked up. "Stop?"

"No! Fuck! Please don't stop. Please let me come!"

He chuckled wickedly. "I'm having fun Lizzie. What if I don't want you to come?"

And then she _was_ weeping. Tears of frustration, gasping through trembling lips, bucking herself up to his mouth beseechingly.

He laughed, holding her hips down with both hands as she thrashed uselessly on the bed.

"I'll let you come Lizzie, if you do it my way. Can you do that?"

"Yes! Yes! Just let me…"

"Alright," he murmured, "you said yes, sweetheart." And then he was applying intense pressure with his tongue directly on her clit. He slipped a finger inside of her, to the knuckle, thrusting into her roughly. She gurgled, a rush of heat suffusing her entire body, and she was clenching, quivering, her back arching despite his hands firmly at her hips.

She was so sensitive, she barely registered if she was still feeling pleasure anymore but the ache at her core was crashing over her. She was close, so close.

And as she fell over the edge, he _bit_ down on her. Hard. She screamed, her climax an inextricable jumble of pleasure and pain.

* * *

She'd wept afterward. He'd gently uncuffed her and held her to him. Soothing her, caressing, murmuring endearments into her ear.

"You were so good darling, so good."

"What happened?" She'd sobbed. "I don't understand."

"You pleased me very much, that's what happened. I'm loving showing you how pleasurable a bit of pain can be," he whispered.

He held her curled up to him for hours until she slept. It was the most important time with her, he knew. Her defenses were down, she reached for him, needing him. And he loved it, wanted more of this.

He'd wanted to make her cry. His brain slowed, froze. Everything was fine. They'd had a close call in Mexico. Ressler had sent a team in but they'd flown the coop and he hadn't found them. They were more than safe where they were for the moment. He had powerful friends in the government here. They were virtually untouchable. But he found himself loath to share these details with her. Why?

He wanted to see her tears, wanted to see her vulnerable before him.

And she made it so easy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to FilmsareFriends for being a rockstar beta and to NeedtheDark and MinP1072 for letting me bounce my twisted mind up against them :)**

 **Disclaimed**

* * *

She woke to a growling in her belly. Hungry, thirsty, dehydrated even. She took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose. She didn't need to look beside her to know he wasn't there.

He'd left a note:

 _ **Gone, back soon.**_

She sighed. How verbose of him, she thought irritably, scrunching the strip of paper in her hand and throwing it across the room half heartedly.

They'd both been too exhausted and emotionally depleted to eat last night. She was used to missing meals though. Her months of cheap motel rooms with no kitchen to speak of had been a sort of freedom. She could eat when and where she liked. She hadn't made healthy choices when she had eaten but she'd found herself losing weight despite that. Thanks to her fast metabolism and a lot of skipped meals, she supposed.

She listlessly wandered through the house after a quick shower. The man who usually arrived with baskets of fresh food hadn't showed yet, so Red had left with an empty stomach.

She softened for a moment, thinking of the fishermen who would casually sail past the house every hour or so, clearly guarding her. Red hadn't said anything about them or the older man who came to their pier every morning, smiling and cheerfully hauling their fresh groceries indoors for them. He had told her to expect the Cambodian girl every few days to clean as well. Lizzie hadn't asked about them but she didn't need to. All of them had their stories and she had a strong hunch that a large amount of them, if not all, had been extricated by Red or his organization from the nefarious sea slave trade that boomed across this part of the South China Sea.

She'd seen him speaking with a local at the end of the pier once or twice. His big hands gesturing, clearly telling a story in stilted but enthusiastic Khmer. How did he do that? He won over virtually everyone he met, knew half a dozen languages, or at least knew them well enough to get by and hold his own.

It was getting later in the morning and all she'd had was water. Where was the old gentleman? He was usually there in the early hours, just after the sun had risen. Her mind ran through all the worst case possibilities. She did that a lot lately. What would she do if no one came? What if Red were kidnapped on the mainland? She'd have to figure out a way off of the small reef or starve.

He really should be giving her more information to arm herself with. He'd essentially overwhelmed and distracted her with sex last night and she was just now feeling the extent of that manipulation. She still had no information. If she'd been asked, she couldn't even name the atoll that their palatial residence was based on. She determined to herself to make a stronger case to him to include her in what he knew.

Her mind flicked to the locked desk in the main room of the house. Red occasionally worked there and would lock the desk each night when he finished, pocketing the key. But she could get in. Picking a lock was child's play, at least for her.

Her fingers twitched.

If she hadn't heard the growl of an outboard motor just then, she would have made her way to that desk. As it was, food was higher on the list of her priorities.

She rushed out the door and down to the pier, stopping short when she caught sight of the young boy in the boat. He had come with his grandfather once before, delivering the food. He was alone now. He would be about nineteen, she guessed. Tensing, she slowly made her way down the pier, watching carefully as he docked.

"Chomreabsuor," she offered in his language, her tongue tangling over the greeting.

He grinned. "Hello," he said slowly. "I have some English."

Her eyes widened. Opportunity had come knocking. She gestured to the food in the boat, "do you want help with that?"

He looked at her as though he were parsing her words to find the meaning, then smiled, leaping from the boat with a basket in each hand. "No, thank you."

She led the way into the house. "Is your grandfather well?"

"Oh, yes. He is very sorry he could not come. His sister is sick, so he goes to her village to visit."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"She will be fine. Mr. Reddington has arranged for the drugs."

"Drugs?" she asked sharply.

"The malaria. My great aunt has suffered many weeks. She has been taking drugs, they do not work. Counterfeit," he explained.

"Oh! Mr Reddington has given her medication for malaria then?"

He nodded. "Yes, my father was called away for work, otherwise he would deliver them. I hope Mr. Reddington will not mind me coming here instead of grandfather?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm sure it will be fine," she smiled reassuringly. She rifled through the baskets, looking for something to eat. She reached eagerly for a banana, peeling and wolfing it down in under ten seconds.

The look of concern on the poor boy's face was priceless. "So sorry I'm late, you must have been hungry."

She laughed. "I'll live," she said through mouthfuls of mushy fruit. "I wonder though, do you need to hurry back? Mr. Reddington hasn't had the chance yet to assign me a guide. You speak English, you could show me around over on the mainland."

The expression on his face was disconcerted. He clearly wasn't sure what decision to make here. He'd had his instructions and they didn't include this. But he didn't wish to offend the young lady who was so obviously a favorite of the powerful man he'd heard stories about.

"I mean," she plowed on, "I know he'd pay you well for the inconvenience if you had to take time off from your usual work. What do you do?"

His eyes lit up, "I am learning to be a potter. I have an apprenticeship. My father arranged a holiday so that I might bring your food." He considered another moment or two and then seemed to come to a decision. "I think it would be no problem."

"Great," she flashed a grin at him. "Let me grab a bag and some cash. Is there somewhere I can trade U.S. dollars for local currency?" She said, thinking of the briefcase full of large bills in the bedroom.

"U.S dollars are fine here, in most places. If not, you need only mention you are here as a guest of Mr. Reddington. It will be taken care of."

"Really?" she said thoughtfully.

* * *

Half an hour to the mainland. He'd become more and more excited, loudly extolling the virtues of his village and the larger touristy areas. His voice was barely heard above the roar of the engine but his infectious enthusiasm was obvious in his demeanour.

He'd asked her what he should call her. Sarah, she'd said, plucking the name of an old school friend out of her memory for her use. He'd introduced himself as Chea, oldest of four children. He told her all about his extended family on the way there. His uncle had become indentured into the slave trade years ago due to debt, when Mr. Reddington had obliterated a number of large fishing vessels in the area. The captain and crew had essentially been slaves, forcing his uncle and others to work insane hours of often dangerous labor on the sea. Red had been their knight in shining armor apparently.

She'd smiled at the vision of him in a gleaming suit on a noble steed, and then shrugged her shoulders, laughing to herself uncomfortably, ruthlessly mocking her own naive romanticism to herself. She would have to be careful, she thought privately. These stabs of mawkish sentiment were dangerous. He cared for her and took his self imposed charge to keep her safe very seriously, she knew that without a trace of doubt, but to imagine that she could continue to hold his attention for long the way a woman like Madeline Pratt could...well it was unlikely.

The sights and sounds of a crowded tourist town were balm to her soul, a welcome distraction from her obsessive thoughts on her relationship with Reddington.

Wandering the busy streets, Chea in tow, she lost herself in the pleasure of a cacophony of noises coming from every direction. They explored a local hill temple, splendid in red and gold with views across the entire town. They'd hired some dirt bikes for a while and tossed down a margarita on the beach. She'd intended to make a beeline for an internet cafe and gather anything she could on what had been happening in the news while she was away. She was surprised to find she'd forgotten about that until it was too late. She took note of the time. If she could get back before Red, she'd be able to try this another day.

The time. She hadn't realized how quickly it had gone by.

"Chea," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. We need to get back now."

He nodded cheerfully. He'd had a rare holiday, enjoying chatting to the engaging Sarah and showing her his beloved town.

It seemed like hours in the boat on the way back. She'd be fine, she was sure. As long as he hadn't returned early. He rarely did but it had happened once or twice.

As they came into sight of the house, over the open water she saw her fears realized. His boat was tied up at the pier.

There were a number of boats actually. And people, crowded around toward the end of the pier. As they approached, faces turned to look at them. Some were Red's security she recognized from Mexico. She hadn't realized they'd come with them. Others were locals that were clearly in Red's employ. And there was Red.

There was silence as she stepped from the boat. And then the ominous click of every gun on the pier. They were all aimed on Chea.

"No!" she cried, a sickening jolt in her stomach. "Red, I promised Chea you wouldn't mind if he acted as my tour guide today. I meant to be back earlier."

She stepped in front of him, shielding him.

Red's face had been a businesslike mask until now. His head jerked back to look her full in the face, his eyes wide, his lips thinning, his body dangerously still. He stared at her for the longest moment then with a wave of his hand, he indicated for everyone to stand down.

She breathed again. She heard him say something in Khmer, a derisive tone in his voice that made her flinch despite having no idea what he'd said. The men around him roared with laughter, dispersing with the odd sidelong look at her.

She looked at Chea. He was trembling. Red approached him.

"Thank you for looking after her today. I hope she wasn't too much trouble."

There was no answer. The frightened young man's eyes were wide and a sickly smile was plastered across his face. Red had a reputation in the area as a man _never_ to cross.

"It's perfectly fine," he said, his voice airy and indifferent. He reached for his back pocket and pulled out a pocket book, drawing out a wad of bills. "Here. Will your grandfather be visiting us tomorrow as usual?"

He found his tongue, "Oh, yes."

"That's good then. I hope Sreynoch is well very soon." With that he turned to go, making Chea's dismissal clear.

She stood alone on the pier. Chea had fled to his boat and Red has made his way back into the house.

Her heart squeezed painfully thinking of every time she'd had good cause to see that look on his face before and never had. He didn't judge her, or never seemed to. His patience had been in such vast supply, that she'd always felt safe playing at the edges of it.

She followed him slowly into the house. Now she didn't know what to think.

The sight that met her eyes when she walked into the house overwhelmed her. She wanted to cry, she blinked, desperately trying not to.

Every surface of the front room was covered in vases of long stemmed red roses. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, walking through the house, finding more and more space just filled with flowers.

He had come home with this surprise for her and had found her gone, with no explanation.

She could hear him in the bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she went to find him. She had to make this right.

* * *

She had meant to come in and apologize. She wasn't good at apologies but if a time ever called for it, this was it. The words didn't come though. She looked at his face.

The strained lines around his mouth and eyes were white with fury.

"Go and get your hair brush."

She hesitated. Shocked at his request. He'd spanked her for infractions before but they'd always been light hearted, almost playful. She'd leave a mess in the bathroom, knowing how he disliked it, in anticipation of a light, sensual spanking. He'd never looked at her this way before, never used anything but his hand or the deer skin flogger.

"I don't want to." She'd meant it to be belligerent, challenging. It had come out as a whining plea. She took in his expression with a sinking feeling. He was disgusted with her. In his eyes, she'd behaved as a child and it was wearing thin with him.

Her heart lurched, regret for her earlier actions crashing painfully down on her. Had she always been so heedless? Maybe. But she'd never cared so much for his good opinion as she did now.

She slunk away, reluctantly retrieving her hairbrush. offering it to him, uncertainty and fear taking hold of her.

"Pull your skirt down and keep your panties on," his voice was emotionless. He could have been reading out the crossword clues from the morning paper, as he liked to do.

Her stomach twisted. He wanted her panties to remain on. He intended to punish her. As though she were a child. No hint of any erotic games. No fingers slipped inside of her as he spanked her ass. She trembled with shame.

Hands gripped the fabric of her skirt. She felt disconnected from herself, as though it weren't her own hands preparing herself for this.

"Red," She quavered. "It was just...I was just..."

"I'm tired of fearing for your safety due to _your_ irresponsibility, Elizabeth. Over my knee. Now."

He positioned her carefully, impersonally on the edge of his knee. He rubbed the hair brush once, twice over her and lifted it with a sudden smack onto the centre of her bottom. She flinched.

His next one struck on her upper leg, just below her bottom. She bit back a yelp. It burned, a fierce, stinging pain. He smacked again and again with the hairbrush, steady and passionless, working his way over the same spots, the centre of her bottom, the seat of her pants.

Tears ran down her face. It hurt, yes, but she'd never endured this without the haze of lust urging her, making her squirm over his lap. It made it a far greater ordeal. Her mind revolted at being made to feel like a recalcitrant child and at the same time she cursed her own foolhardiness, bitterly regretting the momentary fear she must have caused him, the disappointment she felt radiating from him now.

He pushed her off of his lap onto the bed, letting her know he was finished.

"Go and sit on that chair," he indicated to a wooden seat at the other side of the room. "I'm done with you."

She looked up at him in alarm. He caught her expression, realizing how she'd interpreted his words. He touched her face reassuringly. "Lizzie...I was afraid for you." He sighed, shaking his head and left the room.

She sat, attempting to organize the chaotic thoughts in her head.

Oh, she loved him, she loved him. The thought came to her wretchedly as she wrapped her arms around herself. She could barely breathe. Struggling to take in air, she wept silently, slumped in the chair.

It wasn't any use. She loved him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to FilmsareFriends for beta'ing this. I'm really sorry about this one! Love you!**

 **Thanks to NeedtheDark and MinP1072 for letting me badger them with my weird ideas and helping smooth out Red and Lizzie's rough edges.**

 **Isn't this fun?**

 **Also, disclaimed.**

* * *

She'd remained in their bedroom for hours, sitting on the wooden chair, staring at the wall. Misery lay so heavy over her, she almost felt it as a physical presence.

She loved him.

It was a surprise. Perhaps it shouldn't have been, but there it was. She'd had sex without love before. She had no problems separating a good time from the deeper feelings. She'd brought men back to her motel once or twice in the months after Tom.

It hadn't hurt her, hadn't caused her any guilt. Compartmentalizing was easy. Until now.

She didn't welcome it, didn't get a thrill from it. She hated that she'd let herself fall in love with the worst possible choice at the worst possible time.

What did he feel for her? Could she make him feel the same way?

She was so exhausted. Her body and mind felt battered. She felt herself slump down into the chair, drifting.

* * *

Waking up in soft sheets was for a moment, confusing. Hadn't she been sitting on a chair? She was curled in pillows and sheets now, alone in the bed.

Then it came rushing back to her. The secret adventure of the day before, the embarrassment of seeing all those men about to embark on a search for her, the stomach-curdling guilt as she'd began to comprehend the alarm she'd caused. And his punishment.

He must have carried her to bed after she'd fallen asleep on the chair. She should have been grateful for that but all she felt was desperation. She was _not_ a child. She felt as though she was already losing any hold she had over him.

Things had to change. But maybe she was going about it the wrong way?

She rolled out of bed, heading to the bathroom. She was going to have a hot shower, put on a soft bathrobe and see if she could fix things.

* * *

He'd sat up all night, unable to rest. It had hurt him, seeing her draped over the chair, fast asleep, when he'd gone to check on her.

She'd looked so alone. He had done this to her. He knew he was holding her too close but he couldn't help himself. He'd tried to distance himself lately, afraid of what his own passions might drive him to do.

He wanted to take her, twist her to his desires. She yielded and he only wanted to bend her further. He shook now as he imagined his diabolical craving growing so great that he could cause her terrible pain.

She appeared in the doorway of the living room, her damp curls clinging softly around her face. He saw her and his heart hardened. The selfish part of him thought now of the attractive, muscular young man who'd been accompanying her around the previous day.

"Red? I want to apologize. I was feeling…I don't know, bored and lonely. I didn't think about what it might look like to you if you came back first. Please...I want things to be better between us."

His lip curled. He said nothing for a moment, just watching her, examining her words.

She sloped a shoulder, allowing her robe to fall away, exposing her breast. His nostrils flared as heat flooded through him.

"You want to feel better? Get on your knees."

Oh, she'd sunk to her knees without hesitation.

" _Crawl_ Lizzie. Show me how sorry you are."

Ah. A spasm of something flashed across her face. Maybe he had finally hit her wall? But no, she'd set her face and lowered herself like a cat on all fours, slinking across the floor to him. She stopped at his feet, her big eyes speechlessly pleading with him.

He fisted his hands in her hair, hauling her up towards him, bringing his face to hers.

"Your safety is of great importance to me," he said harshly, "I have and will continue to put your life above mine and that of my associates. I would appreciate it if you would keep that in mind and act accordingly."

She nodded, biting her lip, tears falling from her eyes.

He released her, sure that his point had been made. Something in his chest was eased, seeing her there at his feet, tearful and repentant.

She rested her head against his knee as he stroked her hair.

She hadn't eaten again. That was the second night in a row. He would need to keep an eye on her. In the meantime, he stood.

"Come, Lizzie, I'll make you something to eat."

* * *

The rest of the day had been virtually silent. Until Red had beckoned her into the bedroom later in the evening.

She knelt on the bed now, her hands behind her head, fingers intertwined. She was afraid. She hadn't been really afraid at any point since they had started playing this twisted game. And she wasn't now because of anything that had changed with _him_.

But because he had one more piece of power over her.

He must know, surely.

Holding a long stemmed rose by the head, he dragged it across the ivory skin of her back. She felt him move behind her, felt his breath at her neck.

"Did you _enjoy_ your little tour guide?"

What? Where had that come from?

He drew a thorny stem across her back. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath as she felt a thorn pierce her skin.

"Well, Lizzie?" He reached to cup her breast and squeezed so hard she cried out, tears pricking her eyes like the thorns pricked her skin.

He flicked a thorny stem at her back.

"Red?"

He twisted her nipple cruelly. "Did he _entertain_ you sufficiently? Did I get my money's worth? Hmmm?"

They weren't really playing, she realized. He was still very angry but for different reasons than she had supposed.

Yes, he'd been terrified for her safety, yes he'd been embarrassed in front of his people but right now he was mostly...

Jealous.

She smiled. She could work with that.

She arched into him. Well, she was going to play with fire.

"You're not...jealous? Are you Red?" She dared.

She felt a hand grip the scruff of her neck. He held her like a kitten and shook her roughly.

"I recall telling you once before what I thought of jealousy," he growled.

"Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"Well, you're more of a do as I say, not as I do, kinda guy."

He hadn't made a noise but she could almost feel his outrage.

" _That_...was rude."

She shrugged her shoulders, feigning nonchalance, secretly delighted by his reaction.

And then she felt a sting of pain as he struck across her upper back with the rose stem, thorns cutting into her flesh.

Alarm surged through her as she felt warm droplets of blood well up from torn flesh.

"Perhaps I should tie you up and deposit you at his front door. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Again and again, he whipped her with the thorned stem, slashing across her. She was aroused and genuinely frightened at the same time. Blood was running freely down her back now.

She knew it was unwise but the words came before she could swallow them: "I like the part where you tie me up."

He was breathing heavily, she could hear his ragged intake of breath as she said it.

He put a trembling hand on her back as though to steady her, but it was he who was shaking.

And all at once, she didn't want to tease him anymore. She wanted his arms around her, wanted to comfort him and be reassured herself.

"Red...he's just a baby," she breathed.

She heard him exhale. "He's closer in age to you than you are to...me."

She wiggled herself backwards on the bed, craving skin to skin contact, pushing her ass into his groin. "Is that what you think about when you're fucking me? Our age difference?"

His hands gripped her ass cheeks painfully, squeezing and pinching her. As long as he was touching her, she thought. As long as his hands were on her, she didn't think she gave a damn how painful it was. She threw her head back, losing herself in his firm grip.

"Is this what you want, Lizzie?" He whispered, almost sadly.

That brought her back with a jolt. He hadn't asked her that since Mexico.

"Yes. All of it. All of you..." She said confidently. She'd never been so sure of anything in her life.

His hands drifted from her back to her hips. His fingers, coated with her blood were smearing her skin. The metallic scent reached her nostrils, making her gag reflex spasm. It was disgusting, but it was the most erotic thing he'd ever done to her and she wanted more.

He moved a bloody finger to her entrance, spreading her juices, thrusting into her and curling inside of her.

She whimpered, allowing herself to enjoy the frisson of heat shooting through her.

He withdrew his fingers from her and took the rest of the roses from the vase on the nightstand, scattering them over the bed.

"Arms down," he commanded in a smoky voice. He pushed her onto her back, on the bed.

She fell onto the flowers he'd scattered, wincing as they dug into her already tender flesh.

He covered her body with his, pushing her further into the roses with his weight

Her breath was coming in little trills of discomfort now as every movement he made on top of her caused her back to rub against the thorny bed of flowers.

He lined himself up, and mercilessly drove himself into her, setting a punishing rhythm. Coaxing a rose into her hand and covering it with his, he closed her fingers around the stem.

She shuttered her eyes in anticipation, knowing what was coming next. He _squeezed_ his fingers around hers and she felt the thorns bite deeply into the flesh of her hand.

She moaned, burrowing her head against his shoulder. And he felt the wetness of her tears against his bare flesh.

* * *

"There," he said, his voice soft and warm. He'd just applied the last of the antiseptic cream. He'd kissed every part of her back before he'd washed her gently down with warm water and applied cream and dressing.

His voice caressed her, licked at her insides, twisting painfully through her.

She felt drunk and heartsick. She smiled weakly as he turned her around to look at him. She reached a hand to his shoulder, running her fingers down his arm. He hadn't escaped unscathed, his skin red and raw from their tumble.

He touched his forehead to hers, smiling slightly.

It was little gestures like this that would kill her, she thought.


	7. Chapter 7

**This is taking a turn I hadn't looked too closely at until now. Fair warning. Chapters from here on in are getting darker.**

 **So very grateful for FilmsareFriends who beta's this for me. The whole Lizzington community is...splendid.**

 **Disclaimed.**

* * *

Island time. Time that runs slower, in a pleasant, jelly like haze. Getting up with the sun and going to bed as its sets. No rush, no pressing obligations. Sand trickling through the hourglass.

That's what this was.

He'd told her to meditate. He'd even sat with her for hours, showing her breathing exercises, telling her stories while she got used to the restriction that the ropes entailed. He'd been patient, explaining everything he was doing and why. Starting small, he'd shown her a new tie each day.

Today she was bound in what he'd said was a reverse ebi tie. She was on her stomach, her arms and legs tied tightly behind her, rope looping around her neck, her arms, her ankles. It was just a fancy hogtie, she'd thought when he first tried this. But it was more than that. He spent hours going over her naked body as though she were a masterpiece he had a lifetime to perfect. Each knot had to be perfectly symmetrical. The detail was marvelous, even she could see that and she had none of his eye for aesthetics.

He'd put his usual stamp on the work today. She knew she looked a pretty picture. He'd taken photos.

She felt a burn in her shoulders and back, the slow ache of being immobilized for extended periods of time. Closing her eyes now, she day dreamed of the first day he'd started rope play in earnest. They'd moved to the mainland, to a townhouse in the city. He'd shown her smaller ties before then, nothing that fully immobilized her but that day he'd asked her to stretch, get oiled up and nude. He'd been so present, watching and guiding every stretch, his hands running over her slick body.

It was important, he'd said. She was going to be still for a very long time and he'd be tying her up each day for longer and longer periods so she needed to make sure her muscles were loose before and after.

He'd spent the longest time on each knot, undoing it if it wasn't absolutely perfect. He hadn't talked, concentrating heavily on his work, giving her the occasional smile, stroking her face, hair and skin reassuringly. She'd been in heaven. When his attention was focused solely on her, she felt like the only woman in the world.

And she'd ruthlessly pushed away thoughts of the person who'd told her that making a woman feel this way was a talent of his.

He'd left her there for an hour, then day after day she'd gone a little longer, each time he rubbed her down like an athlete after a workout. She hadn't been professional about it though, like an athlete would. She thought about it now with a rush of heat shooting through her. She had taken such pleasure in the massage he gave her at the end of each day. She would arch into his touch, squealing as he rubbed her tight, sore muscles.

It was the only time he would make love to her gently, after he'd tied her in the silken ropes. He worshiped her body afterwards, as though she really were a work of art.

She dreamed of him at night, and daydreamed of him during the day. His hands, his mouth, his eyes, searching inside of her, knowing her, divining her desires, the things she wanted that were so dark that she struggled to utter them at all.

" _Keen_?"

Her eyes popped open. Oh no. She knew that voice. The only thing that could be worse than this was if Sam were still alive and had walked into the room. She lifted her head, awkwardly angling herself to look towards the door.

"What on Earth?" Cooper whispered, horrified, scanning the room wildly, looking for her captor.

She cringed, this was going to turn into the most awkward scene of her life very shortly. What was he doing here?

"Sir...this is actually not what it looks like, believe it or not."

He crouched over her, respectfully trying not to touch her more than he had to, looking for a way to untie the ropes.

"No, no, you should go. I'm fine, I promise. And if Red gets-"

"Well, hello Harold. Aren't you the lucky one. She never calls _me_ Sir."

She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. If her shoulders had any space to slump, she thought, they certainly would have.

He came further into the room, into her line of vision, calmly chewing on a handful of pistachio's. Cooper stepped back, alarmed and uncertain.

His insouciant smile and the glitter in his eyes made her heart sink. This wasn't about to get any easier. Red was in full scale showtime mode. He was in control of the scene and she didn't think he was in the mood to gratify her modesty.

Cooper's head was whipping from Red to Lizzie, confusion and disgust warring on his face.

"Reddington, do you want to tell me what's going on here? I think I'm owed an explanation."

Red popped a pistachio into his mouth and grinned maddeningly.

"I don't owe you anything at all. In fact, I'd say the shoe is quite definitely on the other foot."

He gestured to an armchair, "Have a seat, Harold. You didn't follow the instructions I gave you, but you're here now. Anything you see here that you'd prefer to have not known about is entirely your own fault."

Cooper ignored him, hearing Lizzie groan softly after Red's little speech, he took a step toward her. "Liz, are you okay?"

"She's fine Harold. Completely her choice. Lizzie, tell him."

She sighed. " _Cooper,"_ she said, pointedly not calling him sir a second time, "This is a...private thing. Between me and Reddington. It's entirely of my own will."

"You're naked and tied up, it doesn't really look to be of your own will, to be honest with you," he said, his face radiating concern. "More importantly," he continued, turning accusing eyes onto Red, "claiming that this young woman has a choice is disingenuous and quite frankly, I wouldn't have thought it worthy of you, Reddington. What exactly do you expect her to do if she wants to say no? Where would she go?"

That had been a direct hit. Red's face tightened, his lips compressed into a thin line. He turned and left the room.

"Red!" she cried, "where are you going?"

He stalked straight back into the room, a thick folder in his hand. He handed it to Cooper.

"This is all you need. I was going to organize to have it delivered to you this afternoon, but you're welcome to it now. Identities and funds for both you and Charlene. Is there anything else?"

He clearly thought there was something else by the expression on his face. He looked about to say more but Red stalled him, putting a hand up.

"I don't choose to say anything further about my relationship with Elizabeth. You've heard from her own lips that she's here by choice."

Cooper deliberately looked at Lizzie again, "One word from you Liz, it's all I need."

She winced, closing her eyes. He meant well but he was leaving her with a mess that she'd probably spend days cleaning up. She took a breath and let it out slowly, focusing on her breathing as Red had taught her.

"Honestly," she began in a soft, reassuring voice. "I'm fine. I'm where I want to be."

He nodded stiffly, turning to leave the room, the folder clutched tightly at his side. He didn't acknowledge Red, even as he offered a cheeky wave goodbye.

Red turned to look at Lizzie after Cooper had left. Her eyes were open again, dolefully looking back at him. If it had been anyone else he might have laughed at the comedy of the situation. He wanted to laugh still, perhaps because his usual light hearted dismissiveness had been his armor for such a long time now. And laughing had served as a good defense against his own self hatred. But this was Lizzie and she disliked being laughed at.

He knelt down onto the hard timber floor, running his hand along the rope that bound her legs and arms, reaching for the right knot to undo.

"What are you doing?"

"Untying you."

"I thought you wanted me to try for longer?"

It should have pleased him, her willingness. She was game, he'd give her that but Cooper's words were echoing in his head and his self loathing had come to the fore. He was a monster, taking advantage of a woman who relied on him. What was her alternative? Capture? The Cabal's tender mercies? That was no choice at all.

He felt acid in his stomach. Couldn't she give him her safeword? All the things he had done to and with her, she'd never drawn back, never refused him. He winced, imagining her desperate and trapped in this twisted relationship.

"Red? Red?"

How long had she been calling him? He blinked. "Yes, Lizzie?"

She gave him a meaningful look. "What's it going to be? Am I staying here or are you untying me?"

His face tightened again. Damn her, she knew him well enough to know she could give him her safe word and it would be over in a second. She knew he'd leave forever if she wanted him to and she'd never want for a thing. Money, security, power, half his business, if she'd wanted it.

He began untying her, thinking hollowly of the old catch cry of more than one biblical king. Even unto half my kingdom; hadn't that been the promise of impassioned kings of old on receiving what they desired from young girls not in a position to deny them?

She was his Salome. What did that make him?

She was looking at him, her piercing eyes searching for something. She appeared troubled.

"Red, tell me something?"

"What?"

"On the pier, that day. You said something to those men. What did you say?"

He flinched. He'd been angry and had felt mean as a snake that day. He hadn't meant it. He'd prefer she didn't know.

"Please tell me," she persisted

He sighed. "Beauty is the wisdom of women, wisdom is the beauty of men. It's an old proverb."

She jerked her arm away from him. Her jaw set in aggrieved lines. "You don't think very much of me, do you?" She whispered. "Maybe it's not me who's trapped in this relationship."

She stood up, the loose ropes cascading off of her, her face averted as she walked away from him. He remained there, crouched by the pile of ropes, his mouth slightly open in shock.

* * *

She had shrugged some clothes on and gone into town. He let her. She knew she'd have security following her and as long as she never tried to shake them off, he didn't try and stop her from going where she willed.

It was his tacit admission of his share of fault in what had happened the day of her little excursion.

She was angry and hurt. He'd humiliated her many times before and the flames had licked deliciously low in her belly, the heat of public shame, the feeling of surrendering control, allowing him to embarrass her, drawing her out and arousing her. She'd loved it, she acknowledged to herself but she'd never felt the way she did this morning.

Her shame this time wasn't arousing. It made her want to curl in on herself and weep. It hurt to envision his expression in her mind as he told Cooper he didn't want to talk about their relationship. There had been something in his face, something distant and ugly. He hadn't cared at all that he'd exposed her to someone she saw as a paternal figure. He seemed to find it funny.

And then what he'd said on the pier. She burned, thinking of it. Not a pleasant, low heat, but an insidious, toxic, searing pain.

He didn't love her, didn't even think that well of her. She couldn't do this. She wanted him so badly, it just hurt so much. She would tell him. She would leave him. Cooper had been wrong. She'd never felt obligated to stay or fearful of the alternative. Truth be told, she hadn't considered an alternative, her whole existence was wrapped up so tightly in him.

She pondered her options now. She dismissed Tom almost immediately, but stopped, lingering over his memory, realising with curious pleasure that she felt no pain, it had slipped away without her even noticing. That wound had healed. She felt she could even see him again as a friend, and it wouldn't hurt or produce any uncomfortable craving for what had been. That was a surprise to her, she held that realization to herself closely. She was strong. It would be fine.

She had walked back to the townhouse, using her time in the bright afternoon sun to plan. She had no doubt in her mind that he'd give her his services to keep ahead of the cabal. She determined that he wasn't going to send her to the ends of the Earth though. _She_ would decide where she was going.

She turned into the gated front garden and stopped short. Red was sitting on the steps at the entrance of the townhouse.

"Thank you for coming back."

She snorted. "How far would I have gotten if I'd tried to run?"

"I wouldn't have stopped you, Lizzie," he said somberly, "I would have sent security with you...but I wouldn't have stopped you."

Her expressive mouth screwed up in disbelief, and she raised an eyebrow.

"How long have you been waiting here?"

"Since you left."

"It's been hours."

"I know."

"Don't you have better things to do with your time?"

"I can't think of anything better than waiting for you, Lizzie."

She swallowed. Her resolve was weakening. She tried to summon all the feelings of hurt she'd been experiencing just an hour before, but found she couldn't. She wanted him.

Alright, she'd stay. But she'd negotiate and negotiate hard. What did they say about a good negotiator? Start from a place of strength.

"I want you to tell me how long you've been in contact with Cooper. And I want to know if you've been in contact with anyone else from the task force. And a lot more besides that but let's start there."

He hesitated. He knew how to read people, prided himself on it. And he knew to his bones that if he denied her this right now she'd walk. And as much as he'd been telling himself for months that it would be better for her if she did, he suddenly knew that he was far too selfish to allow it. He should be ashamed, he thought. But he couldn't even summon that. All he felt was a wretched, snarling in his chest. A blinding need to keep her, at any cost.

He said he'd never lied to her and he hadn't, he wouldn't. But he'd manipulate her, he knew all the ways. Hadn't she bared her soul to him and let him into her deepest, darkest crevices? He'd use it, use everything she'd given him freely to have her, to hold her to him.

This was just another milonga.

"Harold contacted me a few weeks ago, needing my help. Charlene was released but he got wind of an arrest warrant for himself. I organized transport out of the U.S. He was supposed to meet me downtown this afternoon for handover of the documents but he spoke to some locals who just happened to speak Vietnamese, which Harold also _happens_ to speak and he got enough information to find this safe house. That's what my people have determined in the last few hours.

"I guess you did keep yourself busy then."

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm still responsible for your safety, Lizzie. And to answer your other question, I have made contact with agent Navabi only once and was rebuffed. We had an understanding while I was working with the FBI, but apparently she doesn't feel that applies any longer."

They stared at each other silently, still as statues, the hot afternoon sun beating down on them both.

"I want to know about my mother."

"No."

"Okay, tell me about my father."

"No."

"Why did we leave Mexico?"

Lord, he thought. This wasn't a milonga, this was _fencing_. And she'd come to the duel ready to pink him.

"Agent Ressler sent a team. They were close."

"Why couldn't you tell me that at the time?" she asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"We're going to need to move again. Today. Hours ago preferably. Harold's sleuthing was unfortunate. I liked the furniture," he said in a faux mournful voice.

She huffed. Oh well, she'd gotten something at least. But she was going to get more.

"Are you going to start remembering that I'm a qualified professional and you can at least trust me with information even if you don't want me in the field?"

He studied her carefully. His face gave away nothing of his thoughts.

She waited.

"I'm meeting with a contact in a few days. You can come."

"That's all?"

"Yes." His eyes softened. "Lizzie, will you come inside and pack a bag?" he asked.

She let him guide her inside.

* * *

The new safe house wasn't nearly as comfortable. A one bedroom flat above a noisy restaurant on the waterfront.

It made Lizzie nervous. She really wasn't sure what their new understanding entailed. Did he still want her in his bed? She wished fervently that they'd procured a bigger place. If he'd deposited their belongings in separate rooms she would have known what to think.

And she would have died a little inside.

As it was, she was hiding in the bathroom, fiddling about with her toothbrush, putting things away, taking them out again and putting them in different drawers. And wondering if she'd made the right decision.

"Chicken," she muttered to herself.

There was no more putting it off. He was in the living room and it was late. She would have to go and ask or stay in the bathroom all night.

She made her way slowly down the darkened hall to the softly lit living room. Red was reclined on an old couch that looked like it had seen better days. He looked so comfortable and happy in his plain cotton pajama pants and sleep shirt, it made her heart ache. He had a glass of scotch in one hand and was just reaching for a book on the coffee table when he looked up, smiling at her.

He proffered the book to her. "Look what I found in the book case. Will you let me read it to you, Lizzie?"

She smiled uncertainly but then he held his hand out to her and she went to him, hesitation had fled.

He pulled her into his arms on the couch, her head tucked under his chin, and her hair floating in his face. Burrowing his nose into her sweet smelling hair, he inhaled her scent, luxuriating in the weight of her body nestled against his.

"Oscar Wilde's Salome," he said softly, "It's a play and it's in French, you don't mind do you?"

"That sounds just fine."

He heard, rather than saw the smile in her voice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Much love to FilmsareFriends for beta'ing this.**

 **I will be moving the rest of this story to Ao3 because I feel it should be under an Explicit rating.**

 **Thank you to all who have taken the time to look at my little fic :)**

* * *

Lizzie paced awkwardly at the front door. She'd never been the kind of person who took ages to get ready. Ten minutes was ten minutes, not forty five. She was learning fast that Red certainly was that kind of person.

Running her fingers over a marble statue in the hall, she thought of Cambodia with a pang. She missed it. Despite the initial loneliness and the uncomfortable power struggle with Red, she had liked the locals, picking up a little more of the language each day. Red hadn't said anything when she'd gone to meet Chea again. He'd raised an eyebrow and given her an oddly...sheepish smile. But he hadn't said a word, only suggesting that she take a fruit basket along for the family.

Cheeky.

He'd taken Cooper's intrusion to heart, increasing security and removing them entirely from that part of the world. She had been getting used to the slow pace of a tropical existence and a removal to Belarus had been jarring.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed Red until his arms were around her, the familiar weight of his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Sure, it's just a meeting with a friend right? What's there to be ready for?"

"Quite right. So why do you seem so uneasy?"

"I don't know. Why do I have to wear this dress?" She complained, gesturing to the pretty, above knee, turquoise number. "I'm meant to be your associate, not your arm candy."

"You can be both," he purred. "I can't help it if my associate looks like candy in a dress."

It was probably a lucky thing that he couldn't see the expression on her face just then.

* * *

He'd handed her a weapon before they'd left. A pink Beretta Nano. She'd given him her best unimpressed look in return.

A Barbie Doll's weapon.

Her fingers nervously stroked her purse now. She could feel the gun burning a hole through it. She felt exposed, as though everyone in the hotel must know she was carrying. She hadn't had a weapon in her hands since the moment she'd dropped the gun after shooting Connolly. Perhaps he hadn't given her the opportunity because he knew how she'd feel?

How did she feel? She wasn't sure if it was just nerves at being given a task again, however small, or if she was no longer comfortable with the idea of being armed.

She hoped it was the former.

He took her upper arm firmly, steering her through the lobby. She remembered a time when she'd seethe at his proprietary touches, the way he'd grip and turn her as though she were a doll. He hadn't done it often back then, but when he had, she recalled wanting to stick her elbow into his side.

"You'll wait at the bar, keep a lookout."

"A lookout? I thought I was meeting your contact with you?"

He shook his head decisively. "You're far more useful down here. That's what you wanted isn't it?"

Her mouth twisted in understanding. "Right. Fine. I'll keep a 'lookout'. I'll just be here then," she said flatly, setting herself at a nearby table. He gave her a reproving look. She watched him turn from her toward the elevators, resentment bubbling up in her.

She ordered a drink and sat glumly, nursing it. She'd been full of hope that things were 'fixed'. That slow, creeping feeling that he'd always seen her as a mess that he had to manage had been blown away like smoke. She thought he had trusted her, he had practically admitted his mistake in the way he'd been treating her by allowing her to come as his associate today.

Apparently not.

She had to stop herself from grinding her teeth, a habit she'd picked up in the past year, giving her intense headaches. She rolled her shoulders, straightening her spine in a small stretch, twisting her neck gently to each side.

As she rolled her head, out of the corner of her eye she caught a look at two men sitting up at the bar. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what had caught her attention about them.

There was something...new? No, not new. Their clothes didn't fit quite right. The one furthest from her, his collar was popped and his haircut was not typical of a man who popped his collar. His body language didn't give it off either.

She continued to observe them out of the corner of her eye. Was she imagining things?

She smiled at her server and ordered another drink, calculating her options. She counted exits. The lobby or the kitchens. There were the bathrooms but who knew if there'd be a window she could climb out of.

Red.

Maybe she should take an elevator. Go and find him. She pictured his fury if she went upstairs and found she was just jumping at shadows. She wasn't sure she'd risk it just yet, based on a hunch about some random customer's collar and haircut.

She slid out of her chair, wandering to the bathroom, deliberately relaxing her pace, forcing her arms to hang loosely at her side, her fingers curled casually around her purse. She slanted a look at the two men at the bar as she sidled past them.

Yes, they'd both reacted. Not tensing exactly. It was almost imperceptible but there had been...an awareness of her that had increased as she got close to them.

She locked herself in a bathroom stall, taking steady breaths. In and out, slow and deep, from the belly, not the chest. She could practically hear Red's voice instructing her. What would he suggest now? For that matter, what would she suggest? She was the criminal profiler. Who were those men out there? She startled suddenly, realizing they could be Red's. It would be just like him to neglect to tell her he had a full security detail downstairs.

But she had become more familiar with the men he had around them, following them from Mexico to Cambodia and now here. He didn't tend to beef up security when he was around, only when she was by herself. Trading off a low profile for her protection, she supposed. Well, those two out at the bar were strangers to her.

She opened the door of her stall carefully, peering about the bathroom. Still empty. There was a skylight but no window. No exit here.

She moved past the men again, noting no reaction this time-an almost studied indifference to her presence, as she slid past them.

Back in her seat she scanned the room casually, attempting a bored expression.

With a shock, she realized they were everywhere.

A man in a suit, she'd be damned if he'd worn a suit and tie before, save for weddings, funerals and job interviews. He looked uncomfortable.

The room was full of undercover agents.

There were no women. That was foolish, she thought. They could have tried for just a bit of realism. What were they waiting for? Red to come back to the bar?

That was most likely. She needed an out. And a way to warn him.

She recalled an evening almost two years ago now. Red in a suit and tie, asking her to tell him his profile. Ordering a drink for her. Leaving the table so suddenly, heading through to the kitchen...and pulling the fire alarm.

Another deep breath. God she hoped she was right. She didn't want to think about how tense things would be afterwards if she was wrong.

She stood again, her chin held high, smiling at the bartender who was currently pouring a drink for one of the two men.

Sashaying past the bar, she made a beeline for the kitchen, carefully keeping her steps light and confident, unrushed. She belonged there, she told herself. Perfectly natural to push through the doors of the kitchen, smile and wave at the kitchen hand staring at her now, open mouthed.

She breezed through to the back door, spotting the fire alarm just at the moment she caught the eye of a looming chef. He frowned, heading towards her, his intent to remove her quite clear.

She hurtled towards the wall and wrenched the alarm, sounding loud bells throughout the kitchen and she assumed the bar as well.

The entire staff moved like ants in a nest, scurrying everywhere, shouts and yells coming from all directions. She gestured towards the bar expansively, wearing her best look of wide eyed fright on her face.

"Fire!" She threw her arms up wildly, pointing to the bar again. "Fire!"

Excellent. There was a rush to the front of the house. She turned to the back door, praying it would open with no trouble.

It did. She slipped out, toeing off her heels, throwing them into a nearby dumpster. It would be easier to go barefoot now, even considering the attention she'd call to herself.

She ran.

Adrenaline served her well for perhaps the first half hour. She didn't really plan any particular route. She ran, then jogged, and when her feet were sore and her heart wasn't pounding quite as hard, she slowed to a limping walk.

She checked over her shoulder. She could hardly believe she hadn't been followed.

Or perhaps she had.

She'd meant to make her way back to their safe house but what if? What if this was the plan all along? Track her back to the lair. She had nothing, no money, no phone. She had a gun. That was it.

And she'd left Red behind.

A large part of her wanted to make a beeline for the safe house, was furious at herself for leaving him, but she only had to imagine his look of resigned frustration at her stupidity if she were caught.

Think, dammit, think.

The jet. If she could get to the jet, she might find some of his team there. Her shoulders slumped. She'd be walking for hours in bare feet and a skimpy little dress in the middle of the day.

No help for her then.

* * *

A knock at the hotel room door. "Mr. Reddington?"

"Come," he spoke tersely, hoping for news, any news.

His man entered the room with a phone in his hand.

"It's Burley. He's at the hangar. Says he has Ms. Elizabeth all safe."

He groped for the phone, the muscles in his stomach loosening all at once, his bowels turned to water.


End file.
